Birthright Betrayal Chapter 2

Desmond pulled the baby closer, his brow furrowed in disdain. "My daughter," he declared, his voice sharp, "will naturally be breastfed. Why are you talking about formula? Can't you be a little responsible?" He paused, then his gaze hardened, locking onto mine. "Joanna Grant, let me tell you, we're only having one child, and I intend to give her the best of everything! You'd better not get any ideas about a second or third child!" With that, he practically pushed the baby into my arms, gesturing for me to feed her at once.

I turned my face away, my heart churning with a bitter ache, which swiftly morphed into a burning anger. Before our daughter was born, he had constantly told me to formula-feed the baby from birth, claiming his mother would take over after my postpartum recovery so I could return to work promptly. His harsh words still echoed in my mind, vivid and unforgiving: "Joanna Grant, I know your family has money, but you need to learn to be self-reliant. Don't just sit at home being a full-time mother! From now on, the baby will be cared for by a nanny and my mother."

So it was clear, wasn't it? The ones who held his heart, who truly mattered, were always Seraphina and her daughter. My daughter wasn't worth his concern, nor was she deemed worthy of growing up in her mother's embrace. Because he didn't care, he didn't think of her.

It wasn't until Anya, still cradled in Seraphina's arms, burst into heartbroken sobs that my self-pitying thoughts were cut short. Hearing my daughter's cries, I involuntarily took half a step forward, my whole being drawn to her distress. Seraphina frowned, impatiently placing Anya on the bed. As if an afterthought, she quickly explained to Desmond and me: "It's called 'cry-it-out.' It helps to train a child's independence. After all, this child was born without a father; I can't spoil her further."

Anya cried piteously, but Seraphina simply continued scrolling on her phone, utterly unconcerned. Her preposterous words made my fists clench, and fury surged through me: "A three-day-old infant, training for what damn independence, Seraphina? Crying and fussing are a baby's natural instincts! If you let her continue like this, she'll cry herself sick!" Anya's cries tore at my heart. Overwhelmed by a fierce protective instinct, I moved to rush over and pick her up.

But Desmond, standing beside me, coldly blocked my path. "Joanna Grant! What right do you have to lecture Seraphina?" he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "What do you even amount to?"

My mind exploded. My blood ran cold, and my entire body began to tremble uncontrollably. He knew. He knew the one crying her heart out, tearing her tiny lungs apart, was our child! Stiffly, I turned to Desmond, my voice thick with emotion. "The baby is crying, can't you hear her?"

Desmond frowned deeply, his eyes devoid of any emotion. He looked at me with open displeasure: "It's Seraphina's own child. Don't you think she cares? Why should you, an outsider, feel pity?" I almost couldn't stop myself from demanding how he could be so cruel. But the words caught in my throat. I swallowed the bitter lump and reluctantly looked away, my heart aching. Yet the desperate resolve in my heart only solidified.

Anya's cries grew hoarse, but Desmond seemed not to hear them at all, focused solely on the baby he held. He didn't even spare Anya a single glance. My fists clenched. I just needed an opportunity. An opportunity to secretly switch the two babies back.

Seraphina's child was born without a father. I wouldn't let my Anya grow up without one too. She deserved a life of comfort and love, a life filled with two parents who adored her! I swore silently in my heart: Anya, trust your mother. I will make sure you receive all the love, both fatherly and motherly, that you deserve.

Newborns, after three days, were scheduled for a communal bath at the hospital. Holding this unfamiliar baby in my arms, I knew: this afternoon, I would get my Anya back. Anya had a tiny red mole behind her ear. Only I knew about it. Since the day she was born, I had been the one feeding her, changing her diapers—never letting anyone else take over. Desmond didn't know. Seraphina didn't know. Did they truly believe that by swapping blankets and wristbands, they could take my daughter from me? Ha, how could they? She was the daughter I held in the palm of my hand, the one I guarded even at night, too afraid to fall into a deep sleep.

In the afternoon, Seraphina's mother arrived. Spotting the sleeping baby on the bed, she snapped impatiently: "A jinxed, money-wasting girl! Just get out of the hospital already, stop throwing money away!" Seraphina's husband had passed away half a month ago, never even getting to see his own child. In a way, he was a pitiable man.

Seraphina's mother's voice was loud, drawing stares from several people. The two babies in the room, startled by the sudden harsh sound, both burst into tears simultaneously. Desmond frowned slightly, as if displeased by my momentary distraction. He snatched the baby from my arms and began to soothe her in a low voice. My gaze didn't dare leave Anya for a second. Her cries broke my heart, ripping me apart from the inside.

Seraphina's mother, hearing Anya's cries, grew even more impatient. She roughly pulled open the baby's blanket, her grimy fingers harshly poking Anya's tiny face: